This Is Yesterday
by The Lady Wolfshead
Summary: Draco Malfoy is everything he doesn't want to be . . .


Inspired by listening to 'The Holy Bible' by the Manic Street Preachers, possibly the best album ever made. This might be slash, it might not. I have no idea how this will go. Leave a review and tell me what you think *smiles sweetly*

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and everything contained within the Harry Potter universe. The Manic Street Preachers own the lyrics to 'This Is Yesterday'. I own my Manics albums and a collection of jumbled thoughts clamouring to be made into fics. 

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**This Is Yesterday**

Another year at school. Another year of striving for, and failing to meet, my father's impossible standards. Another year of acting like the good little Slytherin boy my father wants me to be, on pain of a severe thrashing from him. I meet my . . . friends? Companions? Acquaintances? Whatever they are, they follow me. Or, rather, they follow my family name, a name I am told every hour by my father that I am disgracing in some way. 

I received my OWL results in the summer. My results were pretty good; I was delighted with them, at least. My father, though, was furious. Not only had I failed to achieve an 'Outstanding' in every subject – receiving an 'Acceptable' in Care Of Magical Creatures and History of Magic, and 'Exceeds Expectations' in Herbology, Astronomy and Transfiguration – but Hermione Granger had achieved 'O's in everything. And of course, having been surpassed in everything by a Muggle-born was a crime punishable by the most severe thrashing I'd had to date. It had taken me nearly the entire Summer to heal, even with the aid of magic. 

_Do not listen to a word I say / Just listen to what I can keep silent_

Oh, look, here comes Potter. Perfect Potter and his perfect, perfect friends. I envy them. Okay, so Potter has the Dark Lord after him, Weasley's always been overshadowed by his brothers and Granger is so damn perfect at everything she does it's annoying, but even so . . . they don't know anything about my life. They don't know what it's like, to be forced into doing something they don't agree with. I'm eighteen next Summer. On that day I'm being initiated into the Death Eaters. I don't want to, but, of course, what I want doesn't come into it, as long as I'm a _good boy_ and act the way my father wants me to. I'm a disappointment to him, I know; he tells me every day, before, during, and after every beating. 

I aim a casual insult in their direction while Crabbe and Goyle chuckle and, predictably, the other two have to hold Weasley back from jumping on me. We turn away and walk towards the dungeons, chuckling about it. As always, I feel bad about doing it, but it's what's expected of me. If word ever got out that I sympathised with Potter, that I actually wanted his life rather than mine, that I actually wanted to fight for the other side . . . well, it would have been better for me to get myself lost in the Forbidden Forest and throw myself on the mercy of the creatures in there than to throw myself on the mercy of my father. 

_The only way to gain approval / Is by exploiting the very thing that cheapens me_

Later that evening I lay down on my bed, thinking about the events of the day. As usual, my friends and I had sniggered our way through the Sorting Hat's song and the Headmaster's speech. I made loud, snide comments about the Gryffindors and the Headmaster. Again, it was what was expected of me. Draco Malfoy, spoilt rich Death Eater's brat. 

Malfoy. The very name makes me want to vomit. I can never be proud of my name. It is something my father has always failed to beat into me. I can't see what there is to be proud of in our heritage – a long, long history of Dark wizards and witches. I used to read the journals of one of my ancestors, Caecillius Nero Malfoy. It had chilled my blood, to say the least. The man talked so _casually _of things like Muggle-hunting, torture and killing sprees! He can't have been human. One thing's for certain; if he were alive today, he would certainly approve of Voldemort. 

And yet, despite our dark history, the Malfoy name is _respectable. We are a proud, pure-blood family. We are well known for giving generously to such causes as St Mungo's, and our Summer Fete is renowned for its splendour. We are _rich_, filthy, stinking rich and, of course, money counts for a lot these days. And it's by exploiting our family name at every given opportunity that we are so respected by the wizarding community. It makes me sick, but there's nothing I can do about it. _

Nothing? 

_I stare at the sky and it leaves me blind / I close my eyes, and this is yesterday_

I turned over. Maybe there was something I could do to break away from all this. Maybe there was something I could do to redeem myself. I resolved to go and talk to Dumbledore first thing in the morning. If there's anyone who can help me, it's him. 


End file.
